


A custom of poetry

by imsfire



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Bodhi is a good wing man, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Gen, Hoth setting, Jyn is not good with words, Love Confessions, Poetry, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, headcanon of a Festian tradition, love poems for the autumn equinox
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 21:24:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15737622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imsfire/pseuds/imsfire
Summary: Jyn has discovered there's a tradition on Fest and throughout the Alderaanian former colonial planets of giving a gift of love poetry.  The problem is, she's pretty sure she is no good at all with words...A little bit of plotless rebelcaptain fluff and tooth-rotting sweetness.





	A custom of poetry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TinCanTelephone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinCanTelephone/gifts).



Jyn is writing, and for a few moments, with the tip of her tongue caught between her lips, she feels as though she can do this.  How hard can it be to say what she has to, in a poetic way?

She reads through the handful of words on the screen.

Winces.  Deletes.

Tries again.

_Cold outside_

_Warm inside_

_Warmer still in your arms_

_It cannot be said enough times, enough ways_

_They are the sweetest arms_

_Sweeter than chocolate_

“Oh kark, no.  It sounds as if I want to eat him.”

“So eat him,” Bodhi puts in without looking up from his soup. “He might enjoy it.”

“Idiot.  He does.” She’s blushing enough already so _what the fuck, he started it, let him blush too_ … “But this sounds like the wrong kind of eating.  Eating his arm.  Like cannibalism.”

“Okay, not good.  Why exactly are you doing this again?”

“It’s a tradition.  On Alderaan and all the former Alderaanian colonies.  You give someone a love poem to celebrate the autumn equinox.  I can’t write it in Festian but surely – fuck – _surely_ –“

“What do you want to say?”

“Just – aargh.”

“Not romantic, Jyn.”

“I just want to say.  How much.  Fuck.” She throws the datapad down and raises her head to see that Bodhi is now watching, and outright twinkling at her struggle.

“On Jedha,” he says, careful but affectionate behind it “round the Dried Sea region, the other side of the planet from – they, they write a poetry form that has just 17 syllables.  You could try that maybe?”

“Isn’t that even harder to do?”

“Well…

_I just want to say_

_How much_

_Fuck_

is kind of poetic, and it’s only eight.  So maybe that’s, that’s, like, really short-form poems are your speciality?”

“Bodhi, brother, I love you but - not helping.  Oh Force.  I just want to tell him.”

“Yeah?  Tell him?...”

“I don’t know how to say it.” Jyn drums her fingers on the table, making the surface of her untouched mug of kaf quiver. “How much he means to me, how strong he is, how brave and dedicated.  How he helped me find the way home.  And find my own courage.  How safe I feel when I’m warm beside him.  How all the past seems to be outside, with the storm.  Like it can’t hurt us anymore.  How life is good, despite the kriffing snow, because we found one another here on Hoth.  And I can never say it enough times, how much I love him.”

She glares at the pad. “And I can’t write a kriffing poem to save my life.”

“Jyn,” Bodhi sighs and when she looks up again he’s smiling, his eyes wide and slightly bewildered “don’t you realise _you just did_?  Just write all that down.  Or just tell him that.”

“You think?  Nah, I’m no good with words.”

“You’re, you’re, you know, better when you don’t think about it.  Seriously, Jyn, just write that down.  Come on – ‘I don’t know how to say’ new line ‘How much you mean to me, how strong you are’ new line ‘How brave, how dedicated’.  Et cetera.”

He makes it sound possible; easy, even.  Maybe it is; maybe he’s right and she’s overthinking.  Jyn groans softly; picks up the datapad again and writes.  Mutters determinedly.  Deletes things and mutters more and tries again.   

Finally she looks up, meeting Bodhi’s encouraging gaze; and as he nods at her, very cautiously she reads aloud:

_I don’t know how to say_

_How much you mean to me, how strong you are_

_How brave, how dedicated._

_I don’t know how to tell you_

_How you helped me find the way home_

_And find my own courage._

_How safe I feel when I’m warm beside you_

_And all the past is outside, with the storm._

_All the nightmares shut out in the cold_

_Like they’ve been banished, and they can’t hurt us anymore._

_And life is good, and beautiful and new_

_And full of hope despite the falling snow_

_Because we have one another here on Hoth._

_And I can never say it enough times_

_How much I love you, Cassian._

As she finishes, she realises with a vague surprise that it is, really, not that bad; and she sees Bodhi’s eyes slip past, over her shoulder.  She turns in horror.

“Cassian.”

Cassian.  Snowflakes in his hair and on his collar.  Blushing powerfully, an incredulous smile.  And he too is holding a datapad. “Jyn.”

Bodhi slips off the bench and stands up. “I’ll just – leave you two to – uh, Happy Autumn Equinox, right?  Okay…”


End file.
